


What Happened To You, John Silver?

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blow Jobs, Cock Piercing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Captain Flint/John Silver, Internalised ableism, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Play, S1!Silver/Post-S3!Silver, Self-cest, Silvercest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Silver comes back aboard the <i>Walrus</i> to match his stolen page to the log, he gets a shocking glimpse of his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened To You, John Silver?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mapped](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapped/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> SELFCEST TIME! 
> 
> s1-ish cute Silver/dark s3!Silver.
> 
>  **A/N** : Silver's exact cock piercing revised 2016-07-05.

                                                                                                    Blinkin: Oh Master Robin!  
                                                                                                    [ _hugging a replica statue of the Venus de Milo_ ]  
                                                                                                    Blinkin: You lost your arms in battle! But you grew some nice boobs.  
                                                                                                    Robin Hood: Blinkin, I'm over here.  
                                                                                                    — _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_

 

* * *

 

John had survived his share of poorly thought-out quick enrichment schemes, but sneaking into Captain Flint’s cabin in the dead of night just to identify a stolen page was something else altogether. Thank heavens for idle watchmen, because the drum beat in his chest must surely be audible back on the beach. _The prize is worth it_ , he reminded himself, braving the threshold.

His lantern picked out the bookshelf, so far, so good. He nearly dropped it as he noticed a figure seated in the Captain’s chair, facing the window and away from him.

 _Oh god, oh god, oh god_ , his thoughts ran on. _I’m a dead man!_

“I can explain!” he blurted out shakily, then paused, registering that the figure was not, in fact, Himself.

For one, this man had darker hair, with more volume to it. John couldn’t be _absolutely_ certain that the stranger wasn’t one of the crew, but knowing Flint, he couldn’t have any more right to be here than John himself did.

Which led him to the only logical conclusion: the man had been waiting for him to show up.

He let out a nervous laugh. “I won’t raise the alarm, and we make a deal like reasonable people? You’re not a Spaniard, are you?”

“No,” was the man’s reply. “And keep your light away from me.”

He lowered it obediently.

“You are here for this.” The stranger pushed the chair a little towards him, putting a book on the desk. Squinting, Silver could see that it was indeed _a_ ship’s log. “ _Is_ it worth it, though?”

The man’s voice had a low, gravelly quality that spoke of spending too much time at sea; but it also sounded oddly familiar, like Silver should remember it from before. One of the befores.

Why is Captain Flint’s carpet red? To easier hide the bloodstains. (He would save that for a more appreciative audience, _if_ he lived through the night.)

“How do you mean?” Playing stupid is the best defence until there is a pistol aimed at you. Afterwards, it depends.

“You got incredibly lucky that it wasn’t Flint who had forced that door.” Silver felt a chill deep in his belly. “He’d _never_ have bought your little cover story, and definitely would’ve had you searched. You _might_ have got away with your life, but even more piss-poor than at the start of the voyage.”

“What are you are talking about? What cover story?” His thoughts scattered in all directions, trying to trace the person’s knowledge of him back to its source.  

The stranger seemed to be enjoying himself. “But it wasn’t Flint. It was Mr Gates, the reasonable one. You looked harmless enough, as you always do, and he had bigger problems to deal with. But now, oh, you’re _fucked_. Between Flint’s wrath and Max’s ambitions, you’ll be ground into powder  Just think about it for a moment: a lead someone like Flint has been hunting for months. He would gnaw off his own bloody right hand to get it - and you still believe you can live through this intact?”

“Actually, yes, I do,” he replied immediately, because what else was there to say to such a monologue?

The man opened the logbook where it had been gutted. “Let me tell you another story. About a man called Vazquez _._ ”

At the end, Silver burst out laughing. “Now that’s a mighty yarn!” The next thing he knew, he was crossing that red carpet to find out what had really been written down.

“Here’s another version if you like: an English spy had successfully extracted the confession from Vazquez, but failed to cover up his tracks. He planted it in a merchantman’s log, the captain none the wiser. Unfortunately, he met his gruesome end before he could tell anyone which ship it had been. How’s that for the truth?”

Silver couldn’t care less - he had finally made out the stranger’s features.

“Why do you look like _me_?” he exclaimed. “And what’s with that beard?” He had the strongest urge to pull it and see if it would come off.

“Because I _am_ you. Or rather, you may or may not become me if you go after the _Urca’s_ treasure.” He reached out and took the lantern from John’s unresisting grip. “And my beard is excellent.” The latter had sounded almost defensive.

“‘Excellent’? Try terrible!”

He gave his alleged future self a once over: at least it _dressed_ well, like a rich man would.

“ _No_ ,” he breathed out. “No, no, no, that can’t happen to me!”

“It can and it would,” the one-legged man said, more to himself than to John. “They say there are no second chances, and truly, given the chance, I wouldn’t go back to the start. But on the other hand, I have always imagined myself capable of acting on an advance warning.” He spread out his hands. “So, here we are. There is no hope for me, but _you_ , you can walk a different path in life. On both feet.”

“Is this a dream?” John wondered. When had he fallen asleep and who had spiked his drink?

The one-legged man shrugged, closing the logbook with a forceful thud. “If you like.”

“No, I don’t fucking like this!” Silver glared at him helplessly. “What the fuck happened to you?”

The new and improved Silver was all hard-edges, like a long lost twin of Flint’s! His face betrayed no emotion save for a flicker in his eyes that seemed to ask: Is the sight of me truly so repugnant to you?

Damn right it was! He had no wish to become a _pirate_ \- he simply wanted to get paid and then sail off into the sunset! What could be more straightforward than that?

He sat down on the red patch, tucking his legs close. “You do know you can’t just stop there, right? You owe me the long story! The longest!”

“I owe you _nothing_.” The voice was filled with scorn. ”You were in the way of what I had to become.”

John stared at him, his chills transforming into icy dread. “No, but you’ve grown as mad as him! Is it a curse?” Was it tied to the ship or just the Captain?

One-Legged Silver met his eyes. “Yes, the curse of having more power than you were ready for.”

“Eh.” Power over whom, a bunch of bloodthirsty rejects? He edged forward a little, the pendulum swinging from fear and disbelief to curiosity. “If you don’t tell me more, I’ll have to keep guessing. Out loud.”

“I reserve the right not to answer any of your questions.” His maybe-future-self was studying him in return, as though John had secrets from him.

A wild stab in the dark: “You‘re sitting in Flint’s chair because you’re, what, allowed to? As his royal seat warmer?”

“Also known as his one and only successor.”

John made an incoherent noise that in hindsight, was really embarrassing. Having calmed down a bit, he found out that it was more of a general succession, not captaining the ship. But he, Flint’s equal in some future war! A quartermaster!

“Did you lose the leg in a fight? How many opponents?”

“No.”

 _Ouch_. “Torture?”

“Yes.”

Just when he had been ready to cheer.  “By Flint’s men?”

“No.”

He brushed his fingers against the boot. “Does it hurt?”

One-Legged Silver’s eyes narrowed. But he only said: “Like nothing before or after.”

“I need a drink,” was John’s conclusion.

“Help yourself to it.” Mr. Advance Warning pointed him towards Flint’s stash. “Drown out the horror, there should be enough.”

John kept still, unable to focus on anything other than the stump - and, alright, the twin promises of fortune and power. He asked to see what was in the boot, and Silver the Pirate told him to fuck off.

“What’s your pirate name, then?” Safer to change the subject. “It _better_ be good.”

So good that it sent him into a full-blown laughing fit. The threat of self-murder was in the air.

“But I don’t understand it!” he complained, struggling to catch his breath. “What’s the point of being so high and mighty if you never get the chance to have any fun?”

“Spoken like somebody who has never been responsible for anyone’s survival besides his own.” Silver the Pirate leaned back on his flimsy throne. “And who’s to say ‘never’?”

“You can look down on me all you like,” which was, frankly, ridiculous, “and claim we have nothing left in common, but let me tell you, you are _not_ a happy man.” He got up. “Right, so I got your message, sort of, and I’ll be on my way now. Good luck with your, uh, power games.” He made it to the door without a single word from _Long John Silver_ , at which point he paused and turned around. “Really? That’s it? You’re just going to let me go?”

His future self looked up in surprise, like he had forgotten about him already. “What more do you want from me?”

Ah, the many pressures of responsibility - there was a reason why they had been on the run from it. So the contradiction was all the wilder for it.

“Wrong question.” He moved as if to retrieve the forgotten lantern - and put his hands on his counterpart’s shoulders instead. “The _right_ question is, what do _you_ want?” He forced the eye contact. “You don’t really care where I go from here or what I make of you. But maybe, just _maybe_ , you’re _sorry_ you’ve given me up.”

“I had to,” after a skipped beat. “It _had_ to be done.”

“Keep telling yourself that, big bad me.” Honestly, their _worst_ nightmare.

John wasn’t one for showing tenderness, but in that moment, he couldn’t _not_ lean forward and kiss the future on the forehead. “Nice hair, by the way.”

One-Legged Silver snorted. “I’m glad you approve.”

Pulling away, he assumed a slightly more playful air. “Popular with the ladies, I reckon?”

“May I remind you I’m in the middle of a war?”

Actually, John had just been taunting him, but now he did want to know what was going on on their personal front. They did well on their own, and could think of a list of things better than sex, but strange things seemed to be their constant companions these days.

He knelt down between his future self’s knees, feeling the coarse fabric of what had only _looked_ like the fancier pair of trousers. “‘Long’ is a short for ‘fuck, it’s been too long,’ yes?”

One-Legged Silver rolled his eyes. “As if it had ever been a priority.” He did peer at John with some interest, though.

If they were the same person, then _both_ of them were capable of going too far. “Maybe not, but I never signed up for being a monk either. So. A day?” He brushed his fingers over the front of future Silver’s trousers. “A week?” He undid a button casually. “A month?” With each skip forward, he gained more ground, his future self smiling like he was humouring him.

No grand new conquests revealed themselves before the bare skin. “Jesus fucking Christ! You should have _started_ with this!” But he shuddered to think how much it must have hurt.

“‘Hello, I am you, and the future happens to look like this,’ see the merchandise? That sort of start?”

It _would_ have been more fun than the grim version, if no less scary! His future self had gone and got his cock pierced with a ring sticking out from the tip and the underside of the head where it met the shaft.

John couldn’t shake off the feeling that it would turned out to be one of their worst ideas. “What _does_ it feel like?”

“An improvement over my other pains and aches.”

John tugged on it just to see what would happen, with the maniac catching his wrist. “You know,” the future him commented conversationally, “in some circles, your curiosity would be considered perverse.”

“You could say I have a personal stake.” He spat on his own palm. “And you love showing off.”

His future self spread out his palms in a silent gesture of invitation.

It didn’t look sore or inflamed, so the deed must have been done a while ago. He was more interested in the piece of jewelry than in his counterpart’s reactions for the moment. It was etched with an inscription in bloody _Latin_. When had he grown so pretentious?

Still, his exploration wasn’t without its side effect. As he replaced his thumb with his teeth, the ring clinking nicely between them, future Silver let loose a rough, needy, tremulous sound. So much for perfect self-control.

His fingers squeezed John’s shoulder painfully. “Seen enough?”

He raised his head. “You want me to _leave_ you like this?”

A new thought occurred to him: what if the ornament was a sign that future Silver couldn’t get it up at all? It would make a disturbingly lot of sense.

His mind shrank away from the question and other bleak prospects as he resumed toying with the piercing, swallowing around future Silver’s cock with his tongue resting directly against the ring.

There were curses and gasps, and much squirming. John liked that much better than the unbreachable superiority. He could boast no great skill in this, but a great deal of enthusiasm could go a _long_ way towards bringing someone down to earth with you.

He paused only to protest: “Hey! No hair-pulling!” _He_ wasn’t addicted to pain. Not yet.

Future Silver’s fingers withdrew, returning to the armrests. “If you wish me to relax,” he forced out through clenched teeth, “then fucking _get on_ with it.”

“You should be calling yourself Big Ego John Silver,” John muttered, keeping his thumb on the pulse of the kingly talk. “Because it’s flapping around.”

If he could amass such confidence as a cripple, he was certainly _not_ to be underestimated in his present. The ring scraped against the back of his throat harshly as the other’s hips jerked up, his back arching. He kept future Silver in place, tongueing at the pierced tip and grinning, stupidly pleased with himself.

Wide-eyed, future Silver finally looked his age. His final outcry lost him a couple more years, and his release tasted of metal. John laughed quietly, looking for something to wipe his mouth with. The taste had been nothing that he would have recognised as his.

Future Silver nudged him away, and instead of taking care of his own need, he took advantage of his counterpart’s distraction to uncover the stump.

“You utter _shit_ ,” Future Silver spat.

It wasn’t as bad as it might have been… right? “I can handle it. You’re the proof.”

Future Silver let his head drop back against his seat, neither smiling nor frowning.

John put the boot back on, with a fear that was almost superstitious. “Flint isn’t _dead_ , is he?”

Future Silver lay his hand on John’s head, offering a benediction. “No, he’s not.” Now he did smile - like he deserved all the credit for it.

 _We are_ so _fucked._ The next thing he would be advising his future self to show the ring to Flint, if he hadn’t done so already!

“Do you miss me?” One pressing problem at a time. “ _Being_ me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” He hid behind his silence until John squeezed his hand.

“You never know,” John told him brightly, “we may meet again someday.” As far as any person was a meeting place of his past, present, and futures. “So how _are_ things between you and the Captain, again?”


End file.
